Anthology - Bad Boys With Expensive Toys

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  Ten

  He wasn't ready for the meeting. Alex knew he could've worked a few more hours. Perfected the program a little more. Damn, it was now or never. He straightened his tie and strode purposefully

  inside the Regents building. The offices of Dunbar and Craig were on the eighteenth floor. Heights

  were becoming a regular in his life.

  Kagen had certainly taken him higher than he'd ever been. He was smiling as he stepped inside the elevator and pushed number eighteen. The ride up was smooth. As smooth as Southern Comfort, as smooth as making love to Kagen. No, not to—with. She'd given as much as she'd taken.

  The doors whizzed silently open after the elevator came to a stop.

  He blinked twice. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this. Not the total chaos that greeted him. People were everywhere—boxing up files and equipment. A harried receptionist tried to answer constantly

  ringing phones. An older woman hurried past with a cardboard box filled with papers, a silver picture frame, and an ivy with leaves draped over the side of the box.

  "Excuse me," he began. "I'm supposed to be meeting with Elaine Dunbar and Warren Craig today at three."

  "Oh, dear, Ms. Dunbar has left the country, and no one knows exactly where Mr. Craig went."

  An icy chill of dread ran down his spine. "I beg your pardon."

  She nodded as tears filled her eyes. "I know. It's just terrible. They filed bankruptcy. It was a shock

  to us all."

  He could feel the color draining from his face. "But they were supposed to look at my computer program," he spoke almost to himself.

  "Oh, yes, you must be Mr. Cannedy. I remember you had an appointment with them." She straightened. "I was her secretary." Just as quickly her shoulders slumped. "Now I'm unemployed."

  And he was up the creek without a paddle and his canoe was sinking fast. Apparently some of his

  dismay showed on his face because she looked sympathetic.

  "I'm so sorry, young man. I'm sure you'll find someone else to look at your program."

  "Yes, I'm sure I will," he mumbled, and went back inside the elevator.

  Odd, he thought on the way to the first floor, how one minute you could feel confident and sure your dreams were about to materialize, and within seconds all your hopes were dashed against the wall.

  He'd poured all his money into a program that might never see the light of day. Unless he could find someone else interested in his work.

  At least there was still one bright light in his life. Kagen would be at the apartment waiting for him. Odd how losing the investors didn't seem so bad. Kagen was right. It was a good program, and he'd be able

  to find someone else interested in backing it.

  Suddenly he was in a hurry to get back to her. There was a lot more he wanted to learn about Kagen.

  Time dragged as he waited in traffic. Minutes seemed like hours. When the cars started moving, he noticed a flower shop. A few more minutes wouldn't matter that much, but he had a feeling it would mean a lot to Kagen if he brought her flowers. She seemed to love different scents and colors.

  He made a detour and ran inside the flower shop, leaving the motor running.

  When he finally arrived at the apartment it seemed as though he'd been gone forever. His pulse raced

  as he opened the door and rushed inside.

  "What has been going on here?" Lisa jumped to her feet and, like an angry storm cloud, strode toward him.

  Alex carefully placed the roses and his keys on the table. "What are you doing home?" He looked around the living room. "And where's Kagen?"

  Steve came up and put his arm around Lisa's shoulders. "Calm down, sweetie." He looked at Alex. "She got seasick, so we flew home rather than take the boat back."

  "You broke your promise." Lisa sniffed, waving a paper under his nose. "Especially after she made the living room so fantastic. How could you?"

  He grabbed the paper out of her hand and began to read.

  Dear Alex,

  I'm so sorry but I have to leave. A minor crisis at one of my stores. I know you'll understand.

  Hey, we had a great time together. At least this way we won't have any messy goodbyes.

  Take care of yourself.

  Love,

  Kagen

  Alex plodded to the sofa and dropped onto the cushion. He stared at the letter, his life tumbling down around him. He pictured Kagen's laugh, the way she'd challenged him with a cockiness he adored. In

  a few short days, she'd become his whole life.

  "You've never broken a promise to me. Why did you have to break this one?"

  "I know why." Steve spoke up as if he'd just realized something that left him floored. "He's in love."

  "Yeah, right," Lisa said, and laughed without humor.

  "No, look at him. That's the face of a man in love. Believe me, I know it well."

  Alex ran a hand over his eyes. "A lot of good it will do me. Apparently, the feeling isn't mutual."

  How could so much go so wrong in one day? No investors and no Kagen.

  "You really love her?" Lisa sat next to him on the sofa, taking his hand in hers.

  He met her eyes. "Yeah, I think I do, but it doesn't matter what we had. She's gone."

  "Not exactly," Steve said as he returned from the direction of the kitchen. Alex hadn't even been aware when he'd left the room. "I just got off the phone with the airline. Her plane hasn't left yet. If you hurry, you can catch her."

  Alex's dismal mood didn't brighten. "You read the letter. It's over."

  "But I also know Kagen. She's never run from a relationship. She always tried to make it work. I think she might care for you."

  "And if you're wrong?"

  "You won't know unless you go after her."

  Lisa nudged his arm. "Go. Don't let her get away."

  What if he did mean something to her? He certainly had strong feelings for her.

  He came to a quick decision and jumped to his feet. As he scooped up his keys, he called over his shoulder, "I'll call you later."

  * * *

  Kagen shifted in the seat she'd taken next to the window in the airport bar. She sipped her wine as she counted down the minutes before she would enter the restricted area of the terminal. She'd much rather stay here and get totally inebriated.

  If she was doing the right thing, then why did she have this horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach? All she could think about was Alex. Maybe if she went back to the apartment and told him she'd like to explore the relationship a little more just to see if maybe there was something there, he would... . Who was she trying to fool?

  She'd seducedhim . She'd wanted a burn-up-the-sheets weekend of pleasure. But he'd given her more than that. He'd made her laugh, he'd made her determined to win their silly little bet, he'd made her

  smile ... he'd made her fall in love. Ah jeez, she'd fallen in love with the guy.

  Now it was over. At least he wouldn't see her tears. She sniffed. Everyone else in the blasted airport would, but not Alex. Never Alex. She sniffed again and began digging around in her purse for a tissue.

  She finally found a small package in the very bottom. She tore it open and yanked one out. As she

  wiped her eyes, her vision cleared.

  She was losing her mind; either that, or Alex was in the airport. Why would Alex be walking purposefully toward her terminal? Maybe the man only resembled Alex. She could be suffering post-relationship trauma syndrome or something. But the closer he got to the bar, the more positive she became.

  He happened to glance her way. His jaw set in a determined line as he changed direction and walked toward her.

  What was he doing here? She jerked to her feet, smoothing her hands down the sides of her slacks. Oh, Lord, her nose was probably red from crying, and she hadn't even bothered with make-up before she'd left. This would make a great lasting impression.

  "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, stopping in front
of her.

  "Didn't you get my note?" She'd propped it against the counter in plain sight.

  "Yeah, and I read the part about you leaving. Now I want to know why. The real reason. Not some

  lame excuse about problems at one of your stores."

  She felt like a slowly deflating tire. "What's a few days here or there?"

  "You didn't finish decorating the apartment."

  "I'm going to send one of my assistants to finish the job. You won't have any problems with him like

  you did with me. You'll be able to work on your computer program whenever you like."

  "The deal fell through."

  Oh, no, he must be devastated. She knew what getting his program off the ground meant to him.

  "I'm so sorry."

  "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you don't end what we have together."

  She closed her eyes as a rush of joy swept over her. He didn't want it to end. At the same time a speck

  of doubt crept up, dampening her elation. Was he only looking for another investor? She didn't want to listen to the little devil perched on her shoulder, but she'd been burned too many times in the past.

  She made a quick decision, opened her eyes, and took a deep breath. "I want to invest in your program."

  His brow furrowed. "What? I thought we were talking about us?"

  "We are, but first I want to offer you a business proposition. I like your program. It could easily be incorporated into my interior design company and used with house contractors. Do we have a deal?"

  He took a step away from her. "Is that why you think I came looking for you? Do you think I did it so you'd invest in my program?"

  "Please," she pleaded. "It's a good deal. I'll offer what you were planning on getting from the other investors with the knowledge I can use it in my business, too." She stuck her hand out. "My stepfather taught me a handshake was as good as a signed document. Shake my hand and we'll seal the deal."

  He hesitated before taking her hand in a firm grip and shaking it.

  Now she had to let him go.

  "You're free. You can pursue any woman you want. I'll keep my end of the bargain." Her smile wavered. "My lawyers will draw up all the necessary documents. I'll have some of my people meet with you to go over exactly how you can incorporate the program into my home designs."

  "You'll let me go? Just like that. I can date any woman I want and you won't back out of the deal?"

  She nodded, not really trusting her voice.

  "Great. I know just the woman. She's vibrant, beautiful, sexy, puzzling at times, confusing, wild in bed, but a little touched in the head if she thinks I could ever love anyone other than her." He took her in his arms, lowering his mouth to hers.

  He loved her! Alex had said he loved her. She hadn't misunderstood. He'd also said she was touched in the head, too. It didn't matter.

  The kiss ended, and he snuggled her close. "Please don't ever leave me. When you left you took my world, you took my heart, you took my reason for living."

  "I love you so much," she whispered as the airport disappeared, along with the people, and once more

  she got lost in his kiss.

  Please turn the page for an exciting preview ofTURN LEFT AT SANITY by Nancy Warren.

  A February 2005 release from Brava.

  "Do you remember George Murdoch?" asked Aunt Lydia around a mouthful of cucumber sandwich.

  "He was a fine, fine man." At seventy-five, Aunt Lydia was an improbable redhead with a tendency to live in the past.

  The fine-boned woman on the blue velvet settee, whose hair was white and float-away delicate, nodded. "He was hung."

  "Really, dear? I thought they'd done away with capital punishment in Idaho," said Betsy Carmichael, who'd come in her Sunday best to take tea.

  "More tea, ladies?" Emmylou walked amongst them with the heavy silver tea pot. Afternoon tea at the Shady Lady bed and breakfast in Beaverton, Idaho, was a tradition Emmylou had started a year or so

  ago when she realized she was going to need a lot more business if she was going to make a go of

  running a B&B in a town where tourism was zip and the local industries were . .. unconventional.

  After filling the bone china teacups she brought out every Sunday, she passed around the cucumber sandwiches and the thin slices of lemon cake she'd baked from a recipe in a ten-year-old issue of Gourmet magazine. She didn't figure in a house that was a hundred and fifty years old, its full-time residents not much younger, that anyone would care if she served a decade old recipe. There were days she thought no one would notice if she served decade old cake.

  She had to admit that afternoon tea wasn't a roaring success. No one but the aunts who lived at the

  Shady Lady and their friends, who were too poor to pay, ever showed up, but it had become such a Sunday afternoon ritual that Emmylou kept it up anyway. It gave them something to do, a chance to

  dress up in their finery, and she suspected they enjoyed the chance to reminisce about their good old days.

  Emmylou knew all the stories as well as though she'd been there when the Shady Lady had been upgraded from boom town brothel to become a vital part of the innovative Dr. Emmet Beaver's practice for healthful living both mental and physical, and the ladies gathered in the sitting room had been Intimate Healers.

  Now they were old ladies and Emmylou, who'd grown up here, was their collective granddaughter since her beloved gran had passed on.

  The sound of the doorbell shocked the assembled company of women into silence. The doorbell never rang. Anyone who lived in Beaverton would walk on in; the door was never locked. If they wanted afternoon tea, they knew to walk straight into the parlor.

  "Could it be a guest?" Lydia wondered out loud, looking hopeful.

  At the words, Olive sat straighter and rearranged the folds of her red silk dress to best advantage. Since she was self-conscious about her varicose veins, she crossed her legs and tucked them against the brocade sofa.

  "I'll go and check," Emmylou said. She'd tried over and over to explain to Lydia that "guest" had a different connotation now that the Shady Lady was a B&B than it had forty years ago.

  She didn't have any bookings coming in today. Heck, she didn't have any bookings all month—it wasn't hard to keep track. Probably, Geraldine Mullet had been watchingGone with the Wind again and was here to warn them all that the Yankees were at the door ready to burn their barns and commandeer their plantation houses. When she was bound and determined to save Tara, Geraldine wasn't bad company. It was when she suggested burning the place themselves so those damned Yankees couldn't get their grubby hands on it that Emmylou had to draw on all her tact.

  Only when Emmylou emerged from the parlor to the entrance foyer, it wasn't Geraldine standing there looking like Vivien Leigh might look today if she were still alive.

  In her hall was a man she'd never set eyes on before.

  A gorgeous man.

  He was tall, with black hair that would have been completely straight but for the errant cowlick above

  his left eyebrow. His eyes were pewter gray, or maybe steel. He had the kind of face that made her remember that the heavy silver tea pot she still held was sterling, and wish she'd hidden it before blundering out here.

  If it had been civil war times, he wouldn't have been gambling ne'er do well Clark Gable, he'd have been a union officer here to take what he could get, whatever her opinions on the matter. He didn't look to

  be a charmer or a gambler, this one, he looked like a hard-eyed predator.

  She swallowed and said, "Can I help you?"

  He turned those eyes on her and she felt a prickle of sensation climb her neck. Fear? Curiosity? She couldn't name it, but the feeling left her feeling uneasy and a little breathless.

  "Yes. I understand this is the only hotel in town." His voice was crisp and completely unaccented, as though any kind of twang or lilt would be a waste of his precious time. No pleasantries, either, she


  noted, though his eyes gave her a very thorough once over while she stood there staring.

  "That's right," she said, feeling that business was business and no matter how uncomfortable he made

  her feel, she was going to be nice to him. He was obviously a guy with enough money for the best clothes, like the casual but no-doubt expensive charcoal slacks and black turtle neck sweater. His briefcase looked designed by Nasa; he gave off the impression of having finished a business meeting in Manhattan and hopped on his Lear jet to get here. Clearly the Lear pilot had no sense of direction or

  he'd been drinking on the job, because Mr. Corporate had taken a wrong turn somewhere.

  But, she reminded herself once again, business was business and he didn't look as though he'd have any trouble paying his bill. Although, when you lived in a town like Beaverton you didn't give much credence to appearances.